


Verbal Learning

by petals42_tumblr (rosepetals42)



Series: Sterek Tumblr Fics [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek deals with Laura's death, Gen, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post Season 1, Pre-Slash, Stiles Helps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 16:52:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7648897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosepetals42/pseuds/petals42_tumblr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek goes to therapy to deal with Laura's death. Stiles helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Verbal Learning

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt from tumblr: "Hi I just started following you! I would die and rise from the dead to read a fic where Derek is writing a diary. I don't care if it's fluffy or angsty, I just really need Derek Hale writing a diary and let me in on some of the secrets he writes there. Or Derek writing poetry would be pretty awesume too!"
> 
> original post found [here](http://petals42.tumblr.com/post/114145213579/hi-i-just-started-following-you-i-would-die-and).

It’s Scott’s idea.

Not Scott’s idea directly but it is Scott who pulls him aside one night after training and tell him that he should think about seeing someone “just to talk, you know?” And, well, Derek always assumed that Stiles was exaggerating when he claimed that Scott’s particular brand of puppy eyes can make a person do _anything_ but…

Well, Derek makes an appointment. Because now that there is no Alpha or Kanima to worry about and he has time to process everything, it’s… it’s not going well.

Of course, therapy isn’t going much better. The first session is spent looking at everything in the room _except_ his therapist and awkward shuffling and even when asked direct questions like “What would you like to get out of this?” Derek only manages to shrug.

He’s not sure. He wants to feel better, he guesses. To fall asleep more easily. To stop sleeping so much. To stop wandering to the place he had found Laura’s body and-

He doesn’t know. And then the second session passes similar to the first and then there comes the suggestion-that’s-not-really-a-suggestion: “I think it would be good if you started keeping a journal.”

Clare had gone into why it was supposed to help and the different ways he could do it, had assured him that she would only read it if he wanted her to but she hadn’t gone nearly enough into what he was actually supposed to write down. He even managed to _ask_ and all she’d given him was a list of ideas, capped off with the phrase “Whatever you want to write about,” and a smile that he was sure was supposed to be re-assuring.

It wasn’t re-assuring. It was unhelpful.

He frowns at the blank computer screen in front of him. Regardless of what Stiles says, Derek does know how to use one. Maybe he doesn’t know all the freaky googling shortcuts or hacking techniques that Stiles employs almost daily but he knows how to open a freaking Word document. He knows how to stop it from automatically being annoyingly double-spaced and how to type pretty quickly and all the other basics of computer usage.

He just doesn’t know what to write.

So far he has the date: _April 15 th. _After a beat he adds the time: _11:20pm._ Then he deletes it. That’s not important.

He glares at the screen, telling himself that this is just another stupid thing that is going to keep him from going to bed at a proper time and it’s stupid, _he’s_ stupid, this is all just fucking stupid.

But he had promised Clare that he would _try_ and Scott had looked so fucking happy when Derek had to leave early to get to his appointment and-

 _I have to buy eggs tomorrow,_ he writes and then slams the computer shut.

*^*^*^

The next six days don’t go any better. He skips two of them completely and the others consist of:

_April 18 th: Scott needs to work on his footing._

_April 19 th: Whatever._

_April 21 st: Pretty sure Stiles stole my umbrella._

Derek thinks that only the last one may hold any kind of therapeutic merit.

_April 22 nd: I hate cooking for one._

But it’s still embarrassing as he arrives to his appointment with a single sheet of printed paper. He almost shakes his head and snatches it back when Clare asks if she can read it but he settles for shrugging instead.

“It’s a good start,” she tells him, trying to catch his eye earnestly. Her heartbeat doesn’t say she is lying but Derek thinks she is.

He doesn’t _like_ it. It’s not a start to anything.

*^*^*^

Still, he sticks with it. He writes things like _Training was good today_ and _Stiles’ chicken-kale soup is actually pretty delicious_ and _Didn’t have any nightmares this week._

After three weeks of this, Clare starts to look ever so slightly disappointed and mentions that he should try writing more than one sentence.

So he ignores the pressure behind his eyes whenever he sit down and looks at the stupid Word Document (which he hasn’t even bothered to split into more than one) and tries.

He writes: _Went to the mall to buy clothes. Cashier tried to hit on me. Her perfume was nice but she wore too much of it._

He writes: _Stiles convinced me to get cable. And get the expensive package with too many channels. At least now I can watch baseball._

He writes: _I hate doing this and I think it’s stupid. And here’s another sentence._ But he deletes it before printing because it seems rude.

*^*^*^

“Derek? Derek!”

Derek blinks and looks up, the tone of Stiles’ voice telling him that it wasn’t the first time he had been called.

He hadn’t been _asleep_ but the book Stiles has him digging through is _boring_ and so he may have spaced off a little bit.

“Derek! My laptop died,” Stiles says, waving his hands around. “And I forgot the charger. Can I use yours?”

“Oh,” Derek grunted, still a little disoriented. “Yeah, yeah, sure, go ahead.”

Stiles grabs for it with all the confidence of someone who expected that answer in the first place and Derek smiles just a little. The tiny creatures they are currently researching are more a mystery than a threat and he is secretly a little bit thrilled that Stiles has taken to coming over after school to research. He claims that it’s easier to spread out across Derek’s huge table and that Derek can sometimes be slightly useful and Derek _loves_ it.

It gives him something to look forward to every day. He hadn’t bothered to write about it but maybe he would tonight.

Write about-

It hits Derek in an instant that he never bothers to close the Word Document (because the one time he had done so, he hadn’t managed to open it for four days and Clare had looked especially concerned that week) and so-

“Derek?” Stiles says and Derek can see that he’s leaning forward and squinting. And scrolling. “What’s this?”

Stiles looks up with a smile playing around the edge of his lips and Derek wants to make a grab for the laptop but instead stays perfectly still. It’s too late.

“Are you- are you keeping a _log_ of your stalker ways now?” Stiles asks. “Memorizing our patterns so you now the optimal time for staring into windows?”

“No,” Derek says, feeling his face heat up. “No. It’s for-”

“Ha!” Stiles says triumphantly. “I knew you liked my cooking!”

“It’s for therapy,” Derek grinds out.

Immediately, the smile drops from Stiles’ face. His hand leaves the keyboard like it’s been burned.

“Clare – my, er, therapist - thinks it will be, uh, good for me,” Derek says.

“Oh, shit,” Stiles says. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to- it was just _open_.”

Derek blinks. He thought Stiles was going to make fun of him. He didn’t think Stiles would be _sorry_.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles repeats. “I didn’t know. Uh- here. I can close it. Or you! You can close it. Or I can go get my charger.”

“Stiles,” Derek tries to interject. Some of the tension leaves his shoulders. “It’s fine. Just minimize it or whatever.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“You didn’t know,” Derek assures him. He had completely forgotten about it. Plus, it’s not like there was anything that personal in the document. Unless someone was really interested in how often Derek did his laundry. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Stiles nods and for once doesn’t say anything as he squints his eyes to practically shut and then minimizes the screen. The silence is tense and awkward and Derek is about to tell Stiles to just _ask_ when Stiles breaks.

“So… therapy?” he asks. Derek flinches but not as much as he thought he would.

“Yeah,” he replies. “It was Scott’s idea. I thought he would have told you.”

“No,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “Scott wouldn’t – Scott doesn’t tell people stuff like that.”

Derek nods. That makes sense. Scott’s a good guy.

There’s another beat of silence.

“Is it… working?” Stiles asks. He’s going for casual but Derek can tell he’s interested in the answer.

“I’m not good at the journal,” Derek replies, flexing his hands for no reason. Obviously, Stiles already knew that. He’d seen the disaster that was Derek’s attempt to write down words.

“Okay, but do you _like_ it?” Stiles presses, looking up.

Derek considers. He likes the feeling of accomplishment he gets from making it to Clare’s every week. He likes when he manages to write something useful enough that she asks follow-up questions. He _loves_ when the hour is up and he can leave.

He hates the pressure to talk and the guilt he gets from skipping days in his journal and the slow blinking of the cursor in the Word Document that he stares at for minutes and minutes on end.

“It’s therapy,” he says, shrugging. “You’re not supposed to like it.”

Stiles frowns but doesn’t say anything and they don’t talk after that.

*^*^*^

For all that he doesn’t really _like_ the therapy, Derek has to admit that it must be working.

Because he finds himself smiling and talking more when Stiles and Scott and sometimes Allison hang out at his loft and waking up _is_ easier now and he is a little excited for when school ends for the summer and they will be able to do more day-long training sessions.

So, yes, he still sometimes goes for longer runs than he should and he spends some nights staring at the ceiling and often waits until Stiles comes and cooks dinner to bother eating but-

But everyone knows that therapy isn’t a magic fix-it. So it must be working.

*^*^*^

Laura’s birthday is a bad day.

He knows it’s going to be and he purposefully tells Scott that he is busy and plans on doing nothing but Scott must have forgotten to tell Stiles because at approximately 3:45, Stiles comes bursting into his loft just like he always does, all restless energy and excitement and-

“What’s wrong?” He asks, cutting himself off from whatever he was saying. Derek hadn’t even opened his mouth. Had just been sitting on the couch contemplating going for a third run but Stiles is frowning at him as if he’s an ancient language he can translate.

“Nothing,” Derek grunts. “Nothing, I – I told Scott I’m busy today.”

“Hm,” Stiles says, but he looks unimpressed. And completely aware that Derek is lying.

Derek knows he should say something. He should open his mouth and just fucking _say_ “It’s Laura’s birthday. She would have wanted brownies instead of cake. We would have spent the night camping out in the woods. She should be yelling at me to get moving right now.”

“It’s-” he starts and then Stiles cuts him off.

“C’mon,” the teen says, dropping his book bag and then digging something out of it. “I just got a Frisbee. Let’s go play catch!”

“Um,” Derek starts, wondering how he is supposed to tell Stiles that he has plans to sit and mope all day, but Stiles has already launched the thing at his head and it is grab it or let it bash him in the face and then Stiles is already running out the door.

Derek sees no choice but to follow. He has the Frisbee.

*^*^*^

They’ve been tossing it back and forth for almost an hour, when Stiles suddenly pauses before throwing.

Derek gets ready to run for it. As the hour has gone on, Stiles has put less and less effort into throwing the disc anywhere in the vicinity of Derek’s arm span and more and more effort into seeing how far he can make Derek run for it.

The dog jokes would be unbearable if Derek didn’t secretly love the challenge.

“Hey,” Stiles calls, his voice a bit shy. “I’m sorry she’s not here.”

Derek freezes. Stiles throws the Frisbee but it’s right at him and Derek catches it by instinct more than anything else.

“Wha-?” Derek says. His heart is beating too fast. “I mean- how did you?”

“Police report,” Stiles says, looking unsure and vaguely guilty. “Sorry, it’s just… it’s just on there and I – I’m just sorry. It sucks.”

Derek looks down. Fiddles with the edge of the Frisbee.

“Pass it back,” Stiles prompts after a moment and woodenly, Derek obeys.

Is he supposed to say something? Does Stiles expect him to talk about it?

“My mom’s birthday is the worst,” Stiles offers and just as Derek tells himself that he has to say _something_ , Stiles launches the Frisbee way too high and Derek scrambles to jump high enough to grab it.

Then Stiles challenges him to try throwing with his left hand and face plants trying to catch it and Derek relaxes.

They keep playing for another hour.

Derek writes: _It was Laura’ birthday today. Stiles and I played Frisbee and it was fun. I think he got sunburned though._ _He’s an idiot._

And then he deletes the first sentence because Clare will ask and he doesn’t want to talk about it and he thinks he may not need to.

*^*^*^

The next pack training session, Stiles shows up with a soccer ball.

“To help with Scott’s footwork,” he explains and Derek wonders if he can still remember that line from Derek’s journal after almost two weeks. But then Stiles is setting up impromptu goals and Allison starts bragging about her days playing soccer when she was five and Stiles says that means she is stuck with Scott and-

It’s not quite training but Derek falls asleep instantly that night so it must have been a pretty good workout anyway.

*^*^*^

It seems Stiles always has some sort of ball with him nowadays. He pulls one of those soft nerf footballs out of his bag as he starts cooking and institutes a game of keep-away from Scott that results in a wrestling match. He buys a ping-pong net and stretches is along Derek’s huge kitchen table and they play on the days when it’s raining. Derek doesn’t even _know_ where Stiles manages to find the antiquated Jarts that are now technically _illegal_ but they find a clearing in the woods and play and even Derek has to admit that it is pretty funny that Allison’s archery skills do not translate at _all_.

He keeps forgetting to write though, so that’s not good.

Even Clare mentions it, clearly worried he is getting worse but he shakes his head, embarrassed.

“No, no,” he assures her. “It’s just been a busy week. I want to keep trying.”

“You know, you don’t have to-”

“No, I do,” Derek lies. It’s working.

*^*^*^

Finals week is miserable because everyone is busy studying and Derek is so bored he even complains to Clare a little bit. She looks thrilled.

But then it’s summer and though Stiles has gotten a job at the local movie theater, it’s Beacon Hills, so it’s slow and he puts up a tiny basketball hoop and Derek spends a large amount of time seeing who can come up with the best trick shot and pretending to buy movie tickets when Stiles’ boss walks by.

*^*^*^

“It’s too _hot_ ,” Stiles moans as he sinks onto Derek’s couch. “We’re gonna _die_.”

Derek agrees with him. His air conditioner is broken and it has to be at least 90 degrees outside and his shirt is sticking to him in all the worst ways. Even the three fans he has aren’t doing anything but pushing hot air around the loft.

“We could go to the pool,” he offers. Stiles shudders.

“No, thank you,” Stiles says. And Derek doesn’t ask for an explanation. Neither of them had been swimming since the whole “Derek is paralyzed and Stiles has to keep them both afloat for hours” incident. He would go swimming if Stiles wanted to, but he wasn’t exactly keen on the idea.

“We’re gonna die,” Stiles says. “This is how I go.”

“You’re not gonna die,” Derek mumbles. Technically, Stiles could go to his house, where presumably the air conditioning would be working. Or they could go to the movie theater. Or anywhere really – he doesn’t quite know why they are both just sitting on his couch, as far away from each other as is possible, spread out and sweating.

“Mhm,” Stiles says. “We’re going to- wait! Wait I have it!”

Derek groans because, although his eyes are closed, from the sound of it Stiles has just stood up. Standing means moving and moving means going outside.

He’s starting to agree with Stiles. Outside means death.

“Come on!” Stiles orders and Derek does because, as he had written in his journal, he always ends up doing what Stiles says.

And so that’s how he finds himself at the local Toys ‘R’ Us (which for the record, is not that local). The people there seem to _know_ Stiles somehow and Stiles is incredibly adept at knowing where literally everything is and so it takes him all of two seconds to grab a slip-and-slide and seven different water guns and-

Derek writes: _Had a water gun fight today. Also, I got yelled at for clawing apart the slip-and-slide but that’s definitely Stiles’ fault. He the one who stuck one of his guns in the freezer for long enough that the water was practically ice and decided to spray me right as I was about to jump. He’s still making me buy him a new one. Still, at least we didn’t get heat stroke and die. Also I don’t smell like a wet dog._

He has to edit out the parts that imply “werewolf” but still… it’s his longest entry to date.

*^*^*^

At their trip to the Toys ‘R’ Us the second time, they are in less of a hurry and Stiles is content to peruse. And by peruse, Derek means that Stiles is content to grab every toy that doesn’t come in a box and play with it until someone from staff comes and glares at him long enough.

So far, Derek has had three different sizes of bouncy balls thrown at his head and has had to help put back together an entire rack of Legos after Stiles skateboarded into them.

He’s decided that Stiles is too embarrassing and wandered off on his own when he sees it.

It’s a Wiffle ball bat with three balls attached and suddenly memories that Derek didn’t even know he _had_ are rising to the surface.

Memories of his entire family playing in their backyard after dinner in the summers. Memories of arguing who was safe and if the ball was tipped and accusations of people using werewolf powers. Laura being frustrated that she could never get a homerun, Cora being freakishly good at pitching, his father and mother laughing and kissing in the outfield and blushing when called out for it.

He is holding it very tightly and telling himself firmly that he will _not_ cry when Stiles finds him.

“Cool!” Stiles says. “I haven’t played in forever. Let’s get it!”

“No,” Derek shakes his head. “We- we don’t have enough people.”

You need at least six or seven. More like ten. You need a whole pack.

“Nonsense,” Stiles assured him and then he plucks it out of Derek’s hands and grabs another for good measure and they are leaving. “Of course we do.”

*^*^*^

Two days later, Derek follows instructions to meet up at the park and Stiles is already there with bases set up and Scott is practicing swinging with Allison and Lydia is loudly telling Jackson that there is no way she is wearing a baseball hat and Mrs. McCall and the Sheriff are chatting and-

Stiles’ form is terrible but he manages to hit the ball every time somehow and Scott winds up cheering for anyone who gets a hit, even if they are on the other team and Lydia turns out to be an excellent outfielder and they never quite agree on which part of the tree counts as second base but it-

Laura would have loved it.

The thought hits him as they are packing up to go home and something twists in his gut and-

He is tired but he stares at the blinking cursor for almost an hour before writing one word, giving up and getting into bed.

In the morning, the word stares up at him, still oddly sufficient, at least in Derek’s opinion: _Goddammit._

*^*^*^

It’s a week later and Derek doesn’t realize he is going harder on Scott than usual until Scott is _yelping_ and limping away from their spar and Stiles is standing in between them, eyes blazing, pushing Derek _back_.

“That’s enough,” Stiles says, meeting his eyes. “Scott, head home. Training is over.”

“That’s supposed to be _my_ call,” Derek growls. That’s what they had agreed to. Derek would help Scott control the shift and make sure Scott had the skills he needed to survive and Scott and Stiles had to _trust_ him.

“Not today,” Stiles said. Behind him, Scott looks between the two of them in concern. “Home, Scott. I got this.”

Scott frowns for a moment but then obeys and for some reason that just makes Derek more furious.

“Alright,” Stiles says. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s _wrong_ ,” Derek snarls, feeling childish. Nothing is wrong. It’s not an anniversary or anything and-

He’s just mad. He’s angry and he doesn’t know why.

“Don’t tell me nothing is wrong,” Stiles demands. “You were basically trying to _kill_ Scott a moment ago!”

Derek just glares at him. Stiles throws his hands up and heads to the car. Derek follows only because he doesn’t know what else to do.

“Get in,” Stiles orders. Again, Derek doesn’t see another option.

After a moment, they are flying out of the preserve and then before Derek knows it, they are pulling up to the school. Without missing a beat, Stiles drags him inside, picking the lock to the gym and then to the weight room with an ease that Derek should probably be concerned about.

“Here,” Stiles says, pointing to the punching bag hanging in the corner. “Go hit that for a while. I’ll be outside when you’re done.”

Derek wants to glare at him for treating him like an idiot, for bossing him around like _he’s_ the Alpha werewolf, for being an insufferable, annoying little human who thinks he knows _everything_ but Stiles is already gone and then-

Well, then it just makes sense to hit the punching bag.

And then you never just punch something _once_ so Derek keeps going, determined to see the thing rock just a little bit harder and he-

He’s so angry he doesn’t notice that the skin on his knuckles breaks and then struggles to re-heal before his next punch but eventually even he can see the stain of blood on the fabric.

He doesn’t stop. Because he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t care that it stings or that he’s lost track of time or that he’s doing exactly what Stiles told him to do. He doesn’t care about any of that because he is _angry_ because Laura _left_ him.

She went back to Beacon Hills for the first time in years without even telling him where she was going or what she was doing or taking him _with_ her and she got herself _killed_ and left him alone in New York, feeling the bond break without knowing why and then he had to go through her things to find out where her flight had gone and he’d come back to their burnt out husk of a house and she was _dead_ and he- he-

He doesn’t think he can ever forgive her. For not telling him. For leaving him alone. Forever.

He’s angry until he isn’t and he keeps punching until he stops.

He’s breathing hard and unevenly and that night he will go back to his one sentence style and write: _I am mad at Laura for dying_.

*^*^*^

Writing doesn’t make the anger go away though. It lingers. He doesn’t go hang out with Stiles at the movie theater and he cancels their training sessions and, although, he tries to hide it when Stiles arrives at his loft unannounced, he knows he does a bad job.

He knows because Stiles is looking at him like he’s a puzzle again and then his eyes go soft and sad and then –

“Let’s go play basketball,” Stiles says.

“No,” Derek grunts. He doesn’t want to. He just wants… well, fuck if he knows.

He’d tried to write but all that came out was the word “fuck” twenty times and Clare had told him on Day 1 that he shouldn’t delete things but he’d been breaking that rule the whole time so… fuck it.

“Derek,” Stiles says. “What’s wrong?”

Derek nearly shoves Stiles out of the loft but then he doesn’t because it’s _Stiles_ so he settles for grabbing his laptop and opening it and just waving for Stiles to read. Clare will read it anyway and Stiles can read it and-

Just whatever.

“Oh,” Stiles says and his voice is calm.

“See!” Derek says, mouth twisted. “I wrote it down and it didn’t- I don’t feel any better!” It’s an embarrassing admission and he-

“Derek,” Stiles starts.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Derek interrupts. He doesn’t. The stupid journal isn’t working and being mad doesn’t do any good and no matter how much he _tells_ himself that, he can’t stop feeling little else but festering anger.

If anything, writing it down had made it worse.

“Let’s go play basketball,” Stiles says and this time it is not a question. He chucks the ball at Derek’s chest and Derek catches it and well…

Okay.

*^*^*^

It shouldn’t help but it does.

He starts out playing aggressively but quickly realizes that he can’t be too intense because Stiles isn’t a werewolf and even though he doesn’t complain when the force of Derek’s shoulder leaves him on the ground twice within the first five minutes, Derek knows it has to hurt.

So he forces himself to calm down.

And once he does that, making baskets is actually easier because he’s more focused and eventually Stiles suggests abandoning their one-on-one for a games of Around the World and-

“She was just trying to keep you safe,” Stiles says as he is dribbling and lining up for a shot along the outside edge. “You can be mad but she obviously loved you.”

He misses the shot.

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters, handing the ball to Derek, who is already winning. “Basketball is the worst.”

“Yeah,” Derek says quietly and he doesn’t bother clarifying which statement he’s agreeing with.

*^*^*^

“I’m sorry about before” he starts as they had to the car, hours later. “I’m just-” He takes a breath. Goes for a joke or something. “Maybe I should write about it.”

Stiles snorts. Gets into the car and waits for Derek to do the same.

“Dude, don’t bother. That’s not gonna do anything.”

Derek frowns at him.

“It’s been working,” he offers. “I mean, I don’t… I’m usually better. Apart from this week.”

“And you think it’s because of your journal? Have you managed to write more than five sentences?”

Derek flushes. One time he’d typed up one of Stiles’ recipes but he doesn’t think that counted.

“Derek, believe me, you are not a verbal learner.”

“… what?”

“You’re not a verbal person!” Stiles says, waving his hands a bit.

“That’s why writing it down is supposed to help,” Derek argues. That’s what Clare had told him. It would help him organize his thoughts. Or something like that.

“It’s still verbal,” Stiles says. “You should tell her you hate it. You’re a physical person.”

“What do you mean physical?” Derek asks, getting into the passenger seat. He frowns at Stiles hard enough that he eventually starts explaining.

“Look, I don’t know anything about therapy,” Stiles says. “Scott went for a while and my dad wanted me to go but I- I just didn’t. But I know about different learning styles. Some people like words, others like music, physical, visual – I don’t remember the fancy terms but it’s just that people process things differently. I figure it works with… emotional stuff too.”

Derek blinks at him. It… makes sense. It makes a lot of sense.

“How do you-” he starts and then stops. The note of awe in his voice is too much. He clears his throats and tries for something more gruff. “How do you _know_ all this?”

Stiles keeps his eyes on the road but Derek sees him blush.

“Oh, uh, you know, just things that you hear,” Stiles says, lying. Derek glares at him.

“Ugh,” Stiles says, clearly embarrassed. “ _Fine_. Look, Scott used to be just really bad in school – like, even worse than now, like _failing_ bad and they wanted to hold him back. Which would mean we wouldn’t be in the same grade so I just… did some research.”

Stiles looks relieved when the red light they are at changes and he can focus on turning.

“Anyway,” he says. “Turns out Scott’s a social learner, which basically means that classrooms are pretty much ineffective unless it’s like group projects so we just figured it out. I explain stuff after class and I ask Scott to explain things to me and all the rest of the information just stuck in my head I guess. You’re not verbal. It might be why writing it down isn’t helping you. At least, not as much as it should be. I mean… at least I think that’s maybe why.”

By this point, Stiles is so red and stinks so strongly of embarrassment that Derek thinks even a non-werewolf wolf would smell it.

“You- you’ve been doing this the whole time,” he realizes aloud. The Frizbee and the nerf balls and the soccer and baseball and- Stiles’ uncomfortable twitch tells him everything he needs to know.

“Well, I just… I just figured it might help,” Stiles muttered. “Plus… you know, nerf guns, so… yeah. Worked out.”

Stiles shrugs like it doesn’t matter. Like he hadn’t been spending almost three months subtly trying to make sure Derek feels better.

“You’re a good friend,” Derek tells him. Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “I’m the best.”

Stiles says it like he wants it to be dropped, agreeing while waving his hands but Derek doesn’t want to drop it. He doesn’t want Stiles to think he’s just saying it or that it doesn’t _mean_ anything. Derek wants Stiles to know that he’s incredible. That he’s smart and brilliant and caring and that Derek is fucking _lucky_ to have Stiles in his life.

He just doesn’t know how to say all that.

He frowns and ponders it as Stiles heads back to his loft, trying to figure out a way to say it.

It’s as Stiles parks that Derek realizes just what Stiles said: _He is not verbal_. He’s _physical_.

He uses his werewolf speed to dart out of the car before Stiles can even open his door. So Derek waits a beat for Stiles to finish unbuckling and then opens the door and pulls Stiles out.

“Dude,” Stiles is saying but Derek ignores him.

He pulls him into a hug and Stiles sort of freezes for a moment and then hugs him back and –

“No problem,” Stiles says after a moment.

So he must’ve gotten it.

Even though they are sweaty and gross, they linger.

*^*^*^

He tells her: _I really hate writing the journal. I would like to stop._

Her shoulders sag in relief and she smiles broadly at him and tells him she has a colleague that loves doing sessions outside, if that is something he’d be more interested in.

He tells her: _Oh god, yes._

Stiles grins when Derek tells him.

*^*^*^

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the start of me attempting to move most of my tumblr works over to AO3. It will take me a while so hang in there! Thank you!!


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